


oh god, i think i'm falling

by sebbykurt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, first second person pov i've ever written so please go easy on me, fluff and a teeny tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebbykurt/pseuds/sebbykurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the course of their time together, Scott makes Liam a series of three promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh god, i think i'm falling

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty much the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written

**i.**

Scott makes you a promise after he pulls you out of that well.  He’s holding you too close, as if he can crush your bodies into one so that he never has to worry about you anymore than he’s ever had to worry about himself.  His fingers are rubbing circles against your shoulder blades and the feeling of comfort makes you cry with relief.

“I promise I’ll keep you safe, Liam,” he whispers, and you love the way he says your name like something sacred.  “Nobody will ever hurt you again, I swear.”

The bond you two share is beyond that of any you have ever felt before.  It races through your bloodstream uncontrollably, just as soothing as it is worrying.

You have never depended on anyone before, at least not like _this_ , and it scares you.

“I know,” you say.  “I know you won’t.  I trust you.”

  **ii.**

Scott is graduating and you don’t know how to feel about it.

You want to be happy for him, you really do, but it’s hard to feel happy when the boy you think you’re starting to fall in love with is leaving you for greener pastures.

But you know that’s not right.  Not _really_.  Scott isn’t _leaving_ you, he’s just going to a different place.  He’ll be two hours away and he tells you that your makeshift pack meetings will have to go from three times a week to three times a month (if you’re lucky). 

Right now, the two of you are sitting on the floor of his bedroom, playing video games on the crappy television Scott’s mom bought at a yard sale as soon as Scott received his first acceptance letter.  He wasn’t supposed to use it yet, on the off chance that it only had a few years of life left in it, but Scott told you that he likes to make exceptions, even to his mother’s rules.

You don’t know whether to be pleased of baffled, knowing that you’re one of those exceptions.

You want to kiss him, which is a stupid thing to think, so you shove it as far away from your mind as possible and hastily kill Scott’s character.

“ _Damn_ , dude!”  Scott tosses his controller to the side and huffs exaggeratedly, smiling despite his impatience.  “Will I ever find a game you can’t beat?”

You never told Scott about the hours you used to spend playing video games in the basement, secret moments of solitude that you stole from your lacrosse schedule while your mom and step dad were working.  There’s a difference between respect and pity, after all, and you definitely don’t want the latter.

“Are you scared?”  The question comes out before you can stop it.

It’s been on your mind ever since Scott announced that he’d gone and picked out a school. 

“I-I mean…I just…”

Scott laughs, this rich, full sound that makes your heart feel like it’s about to rip itself out of your chest.  Cheeks warming, you look away and bite your lip, forcing self-control.

He inches closer, so that your legs are touching.  He reaches out and grabs your hand.  It’s a nasty habit of his, the whole ‘holding hands’ thing.  It drives you crazy.

“Of course I am,” he tells you, in that sweet, quiet way of his that lets you know he’s being entirely honest.  “But I’m excited, too, so I guess the two things just cancel each other out?”

His head falls to your shoulder and there’s a lump in your throat.  You want to pull him close, to trace your fingers over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

You won’t, though.  You never have and you probably never will.

“I’m scared,” you admit.  The words are a weight sliding from your shoulders.  “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.  Without, uh, my alpha.” 

“Liam…”

His fingers curl around you chin, gently forcing you to look at him.  His eyes aren’t spectacular, not when he’s in human form, but they still make your head spin and your heart thump faster.

“I promise you, Liam, there’s nothing to be afraid of.  And if you _ever_ need me, all you have to do is howl.”

You’re smiling when he bumps your noses together.

“Now, let’s see if I can’t kick your ass _just_ this once.”

“Yeah, _right_.”

**iii.**

You’re eighteen years old now, fresh out of high school and feeling just as unsure as the day you found yourself at Beacon Hills. 

There’s a duffel bag in the trunk of your car and a hundred dollar bill in your back pocket.  You’ve thought about this for months, contemplated every aspect of what you’re about to do.

Things have changed a lot since your pack was all together.  Stiles and Malia are off living in the middle of the woods somewhere, Kira moved to the other side of the country for some once-in-a-lifetime exploration of marine life, and Lydia left for Italy with that deputy you never really liked right by her side.  You haven’t seen Derek since everything that happened your Freshman year, and those few messages that you all received from never-before-seen pack mates like Isaac have stopped coming in altogether.

Scott and Stiles are pretty much the only ones that make an effort to come back once a month, but even they can’t always make it.  You’ve spent the past two years distracting yourself with school and lacrosse, purposefully shoving aside any questions you may have had about what Scott was doing.

But you don’t have to distract yourself anymore.

You end up sitting outside of Scott’s apartment complex for twenty minutes, squeezing your hands so tight around the steering wheel that you don’t even notice when your claws are out until you’ve cut your own palms.

You don’t open the door until the wounds have healed, and you don’t step out of your car until you’ve stopped shaking. 

The McCall’s income has always been tight, but years of saving up loose change and Scott’s paychecks really paid off.  The building where Scott lives is beautiful in the early weeks of summer, surrounded by bushes of wild flowers and painted a fresh shade of white.

It isn’t the type of place where you have to buzz in or anything, which you think is a good thing, because the sound of Scott’s voice would probably shoot your nerves to hell and back again.

You walk in, check the list of names and numbers on the wall, and head for the stairs with a nervous sigh (you would take the elevator, but you need the time it takes to maneuver the stairs).

There’s an old woman standing in the hallway when you finally make it to Scott’s floor.  She looks at you like she knows all of your secrets, and you know you’re just being paranoid, but it doesn’t cease to make you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.  You wince as you walk by her.  You wonder if Scott will look at you and see the same things – if he’ll hate you for the changes on your face and the stories in your eyes.

You haven’t shaved in a week and you’ve been through a lot since he left.

Dropping your bag, you stand hesitantly in front of Scott’s door.

 _This is crazy_ , you think.  _He was never waiting for me.  I’m not worth it.  If there was every anything between us, there’s no doubt it’s gone now.  He’s probably moved on, found someone smarter and nicer and—_

The door opens.

And Scott is standing there, sleepy-eyed and messy-haired because even though it’s almost one in the afternoon _of course_ he just woke up.  An easy smile slides across his features.

“I could smell you,” he tells you, and that makes you blush. 

He looks so _good_ and he’s grinning at you like he’s always known he would wake up one afternoon to find you on his doorstep, waiting for a shot at something that may never come.

“Scott, I—“

He’s pulling you into the apartment with that unfair alpha speed of his, pinning you back against the door as he closes it.  His lips fall to your neck, tracing invisible patterns against your skin.  You curl you fingers into knots at the back of his t-shirt.

“I couldn’t wait for you to come back to me.”

And he kisses you.

It’s simple, nothing to write home about (not that you would, anyway), but it makes your toes curl in your sneakers.  How many times have you thought about this exact moment?  How many nights have you laid awake, tossing in turning in frustration as you contemplated the cataclysmic explosions that you expected from his kiss?

You smile against his mouth, feeling giddy and inexperienced and afraid and excited.  Your stomach tugs and pulls at itself, waves on the shore.

“I love you,” he whispers, gentle and sweet.  Your heart rattles pathetically against your ribcage, like a broken wind-up toy.  “And I promise to love you for the rest of my life.”

There’s a lump in your throat.  You kiss him again.

“I love you, too.  Dammit, Scott, I love you, too.”


End file.
